


Embers

by AsTheDayDies



Series: Dragon Age Tales [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3286922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsTheDayDies/pseuds/AsTheDayDies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a young female mage gets caught up in the events of the Conclave, she is swept up in the madness and chaos of the Inquisition. Its members both intimidate and intrigue her, including the broad Commander of their forces. Will she, being an Apostate, be protected as "The Herald," or is it simply a title of convenience soon to be shed for her imminent demise while others take in the fame?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Blossoming Flame

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my take on the Female Mage Trevelyan story. While I want to focus on what makes her story original, I want to show my love for all of the other characters as well. :-) Romance (ho ho ho, yes) will be coming. For now, however, this remains General Audiences accepted. ;-)

The sweet scent of warm, fresh cakes filled the lofty halls, contrasting the heady scent of the thick, oiled wooden beams and railings. She skipped down the hewn stone stair layered in thick, heavy carpet before dashing into the thick group of adults loitering in the gallery. Pushing her way through, though she elicited a few surprised exclamations, she made it successfully to the dining hall and peered down the long length of the wooden table. 

Silver trays full of steaming, juicy meats, crystal stands with rich cakes dripping with sweet icing spanned the length of the vivid blue runner. Her favorite color, she noted. A large hand crafted wreath of vibrant dragonthorn berries and fragrant crystal grace was holding tall white candles. She took a deep breath and sighed. All of her favorites here, just for her. 

"Here is the birthday girl!" a man's voice boomed from the far end of the table. "Come here, child." 

"Yes, father!" she said excitedly, rushing to meet the man with a lilt in her step. 

Suddenly, she was intercepted by quick hands and a clucking tongue. "Now, now, Miss Trevelyan; what have you done t' yer hair? Y' cannah be meetin' yer father on yer birthday looking like a homeless whelp! Aye!" 

Maeve Trevelyan rolled her eyes, but waited obediently as her handmaid twisted and tucked her unruly waves back into their coifed submission. "There now! Off ye git!" 

She rushed to her father's side and stood alert, hand over hand demurely in front of her and she stood in her best posture. 

"Friends, family, and all who gather here," her father began in the professional tone of a Nobleman, "thank you for joining us. Today, we celebrate the new year of our sole progeny, Maeve. On this, the seventh anniversary of her birth, we celebrate not only her life, but the continuation and strengthening of House Trevelyan!" 

Proper clapping broke out in a wave from the front to the back of the guests, some nodding their affirmation. 

She took her place next to the candled wreath and waited, eyes on her father. Her mother emerged from the back, placing a tired hand on her swollen belly. He turned, looking on his wife with pride and she carried another of his line. "But she will be our sole progeny no longer!" Outright cheers erupted above the clapping, and even Maeve smiled. What a wonderful birthday gift it would be to have a baby brother or sister! 

"And I've had enough ghoul's beard elixirs to ensure our line produces nothing but male heirs for ten generations," her mother joked good naturedly as other around her chuckled. 

"To House Trevelyan!" An older cousin admonished, raised glass in hand. Her father returned to the gesture, and she knew it was time to blow out the candles. 

Flames, growing, coiled tightly like small buds danced on the top of the candles. They looked so small and hungry, like they wanted to bloom and display their vivid petals. At least, that's the brief thought that crossed her mind before she bent low, feeling the heat on her face, and blew. 

Instead of disappearing, the buds opened, growing furiously large and hungrier. They blazed, engulfing the table, licking at the wreath, and begging, craving for more. The flames twisted and turned savage, searing her skin and burning her eyes. The roar of the fire drowned out all other sound, and she shielded her face with her hands. The bright red flames suddenly turned a sickly green, eerie and ominous. She wanted them to stop, to die. Her hand reached out, and the flames jumped toward her, diving into her palm. 

She sat up with a start, her forehead soaked in sweat, and her palm pulsing with a strange tingling. She cried out in surprise as it crackled with the same eerie flames, and sent a painful pulse through her bones. 

Surely she was still dreaming. This surely was all part of a very vivid nightmare. What was this thing on her hand? Why was she in chains? 

What had happened at the Conclave?


	2. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra must deal with what to do with Maeve, the Mage caught at the destruction of the Conclave with help from Leliana and some unwanted advice from Chancellor Roderick.

Cassandra Pentaghast paced the floor, stalking around the makeshift war room of Haven like a preying tiger. She had much to consider. How would the Maker judge her actions? Was she right to have chained possibly their only hope? How could she have known the sickly green mark stamped onto their only suspect was to be the key to closing rifts? Was it really Andraste that aided her out of the Fade? Was that even possible? 

She sighed, pressing the flat of her palms against the table, stretching out her lower back. This was her least favorite way of dealing with issues, dancing around them, hunting for hidden (or Divine) meaning. 

"If she were here, she would know what to do," she said softly, staring down at the pile of hastily scrawled letters informing families of the losses in Haven. 

"Yes, she always did know just to direct us, how to lead people," Leliana spoke softly from the shadows, her arms crossed over her chest. "Her way with people . . . it was unmatched. The world is dark for taking her, and darker now that she is gone," she added bitterly. Why would the Maker allow one of the best - no, the best - of His servants to be cut down at such a crucial point? At a time when she was needed most? Her jaw hardened; the Maker was cruel, she decided in her moment of emotional weakness. 

Cassandra spoke up, unknowingly replying to her internal dialogue. "There must be a reason. That's what she would believe." She looked up, her tired, stern eyes resting on Leliana's dark gaze. "She would not want us to lose faith. 'There is always a way,' I can hear her even now, reminding me. Not everything is solved by being straightforward." 

"Or swinging a sword." 

Cassandra chuckled mirthlessly, and half of Leliana's lips curled into a thin grin. 

"Yes, she offered that sentiment more than once during my service." 

"Your service is not over," she added passionately, stepping nearer the table next to her. "We will find those responsible, and we will end it." Her words cut sharply in the air, a vengeful edge lacing her dutiful will. 

Cassandra looked back to the desk. End what? There was so much more here than simply finding the one responsible for the death of the Divine and bringing him to justice. So many were dead, and many more lives changed for their loss. And the Rebellion was only going to spread like a fire stoked by dry wind once the news of the Conclave was carried to the rest of Thedas. 

Something had to be done. Someone had to act. 

The wide door whined as it was pushed open, groaning on the tired hinges. 

"Lady Cassandra," Josephine began curtly, professionally, an irritated arch in one brow, "Chancellor Roderick wishes to spea--"

"I do not need introductions!" he barked, pushing his way past her and her candle so closely he nearly caught his hood on fire. "I need action!" Josephine restrained herself from rolling her eyes, but did slip Cassandra one last apologetic look as she retreated to her desk, shutting the oak doors behind her. 

"I demand the that the prisoner be executed immediately!" he cried, shoving his thick finger into the table. 

Cassandra felt her palm itch, craving the hilt of her sword. Leliana stepped back to the corner, giving distance to the pair, hiding a coy smile as her keen eyes noticed the twitch in the woman's fingers. Oh yes, they would certainly be relying on the Divine's advice quite heavily during these trying time. 

 

Maeve stretched, mentally preparing herself for meeting with Cassandra. The woman gave her pause, not of intimidation, but because of her determination. In the short time that she had known her, she seemed to be fair enough. And although her trust was disconcerting, she admitted it did seem reasonable. 

_I don't even know what happened._

Without her memories, could she really claim her own innocence? There were so many possibilities, and none of them eased her mind. Had a demon laid claim to her, possessed her to commit those terrible acts? She looked down at the mark crackling on her hand, and closed her fist tightly. Whatever it was intended to be, it now gave her the ability to do something. 

She rose from the thing cot, stretching her lower back. Her palm hovered over the handle of the door, considering what would await her. She had gleaned little information from the timid serving Elf, aside from that her attempt had worked and that most people appreciated it. _I helped. They aren't going to kill me._ She repeated that over and over as she stepped out into the chilly sunlit day. 

Eyes everywhere fell on her as she quietly made her way to the large structure. Conversations turned to hushed gossip, kicking up behind her like fall leaves in her wake. Did she make them nervous? Was she feared as a Mage? Surely everyone knew by now. Would they accuse her out of fear? She suddenly wished for the familiar haft of her staff, but was glad she left it behind. The guards, especially the Templars, were strung tight as bowstring, ready to let their weapons fly at the first sign of perceived threat. Yes, she determined, it was better she left it behind. 

Her boots clacked too loudly against the stone floor, echoing up the tall ceiling. Thankfully no one was there to take notice of her presence, aside from Mother Giselle, who simply gave her a grave smile. 

She pressed her hand on the rough door, pausing a moment to listen to the heated argument behind them. "Maker, help me," she breathed quietly. 

She was going to need it.


	3. Dangerous

   

     Maeve walked around the outskirts of Haven in an attempt to clear her head. The brisk air helped, cooling her face and causing her skin to prickle. The meeting had been more intense than she had expected. Overwhelmed would have fit the way she felt, if she had not been so shocked as to feel nothing at all.  
  
     At first, she was relieved to learn that she would not be tried as responsible for the Conclave disaster (at least not by Cassandra). But somehow, she had become swept into Cassandra's Inquisition without a real choice in the matter. These were a few people of influence who did not believe she was guilty, though whether that was a matter of conscience or convenience, she had not determined. It would be very beneficial to the Inquisition to ally with someone being called out as a 'Herald of Andraste' as they opposed those in the Chantry who wanted her hanged. Not that she wanted to flee; she, for some ordained reason, possessed the one thing that was capable of closing the rifts. She would not run. She would help them, all of them. But why her? How did she get into the mess?

_I can't even remember what happened..._

     She trudged through the calf-deep snow until she could think of nothing but how cold she was. With heavy steps, she crunched through the snow drifts, making her way back to the edge of Haven. As she neared the training soldiers, she wondered if they would notice her teeth chattering over the clash of swords and shields. She carefully avoided Cassandra, as she preferred that the female warrior take out her stress on the training dummies.

     Maeve paused as she came around the bend, her chest tightening as the Commander of their forces locked his strong gaze on her. Her stomach clenched and she gripped her staff tighter. Of all their advisors, he intimidated her the most. Cassandra was deadly, yes, but she was nothing if not brutally truthful and glaringly obvious. If there were falsehood in her, it would show. Leliana was deadly and secretive. While Maeve did not doubt the spy master's ability to kill her at a whispered whim, it would not be frightening; she would never see it coming. Josephine was a doll, and in her, Maeve felt a kindred spirit of nobility. Nothing about the woman made her nervous. But Cullen--he could be a problem.

     "Herald," he said curtly, looking quickly back to his men, his eyes keenly focused on their maneuvers. "That's a shield in your arm; block with it!" he barked.

     Slowly, she backed away, glad to be free of his attention. Avoiding the wary eyes of the few Templars eyeing her and her staff, she slipped through the gate and quickly made her way to the small fire at the center.

     Varric looked up as the human mage slumped next to him, her teeth chattering together loudly. "You know," he offered slowly, "there are other ways to cool your head."

     She nodded, but was too cold to reply coherently.

     "Wow, rough meeting in there? I can imagine how terrible that must have been; stuck in there with Cassandra and Roderick?" The dwarf shook his head, a wry smile splitting his lips. "That you made it out unscathed goes a long way to supporting that whole 'Divine appointment' rumors." Maeve managed a tight chuckle at that, and he grinned. "Well, at least the Fade didn't sap your sense of humor."

     "N-no," she replied through chattering teeth. "B-but Cass-sandra might."

     Varric laughed, reaching for a small, leather satchel sitting near the fire. "I'd drink to that." He popped the cork and began to pour a thick, heady drink into two mugs, the liquid inviting and steaming with warmth. "Here."

     She accepted the offered mug gladly; the warmth felt good against her chilled palms. Cradling the cup tenderly, she stared into the fire as if it would divine her future.

     Varric sensed her uneasiness, and took a seat next to her on the log. "Cassandra rattle you that badly, huh?"

     "Hm?"

     "Don't worry," he added sagely. "She's more bark than bite."

     "Cassandra doesn't worry me." She shuffled her feet, looking down sheepishly. "I'm just nervous about . . . the Templars." Her voice was barely a whisper, and her eyes darted to the side, watching for any eavesdropping ears.

     His roguish smile was somehow comforting. "Well, I'm no mage, but I do know what it's like to feel that anyone might turn on you at any moment." For a brief second, she thought his gaze had darkened, a shadow clouding his features. But as soon as she noticed, it had passed. Perhaps she had imagined it. "But you're the Herald," he emphasized comically. "Who would want _you_ dead?"

     "You're quite comedian, Tethras," she said dryly. "But I'd stick to writing."

     He chuckled, taking a swig from his mug. "Look, in all seriousness, I really believe you have nothing to worry about--" She shot him a glare, and his hands went up defensively, nearly spilling his drink. "--from the _inside_ ," he added defensively. "If Cassandra says you're innocent, she means it. And the Templars will have their hands full with plenty of orders from Cullen." Her brows furrowed at the mention of the former Knight-Captain, something the Dwarven spy master did not miss. "Wait, you've been in the Fade, and it's _Cullen_ that unsettles you?"

     "It's not funny, Varric," she replied sternly as she set down the untouched ale. "I just have this feeling, and he's extremely adamant about not going to the Mages for help. He wants all the Templars, here. And, I don't know, he just looks at me weird. It makes me uncomfortable."

     Varric kept his mug to his lips just to hide his smile. It was not working.

     Maeve glared at him with mock threats. "You know I could set you on fire."

     "I believe you! I don't need proof. I'm not really laughing at you. It's just . . . a little ironic, after all. Why don't you just go talk to the guy?" He looked at her with intent.

     "What? Now?!" Even as she replied, he was reaching for her mug to free her hands.

     "Yes, now." He tugged on the mug until she relinquished her hold. "It'll be fun."

     With a grunt of frustration, she rose reluctantly. As the Mage retreated towards the gate, Varric grinned crookedly and downed the contents of the mug.

     * * *

     Throat dry and heart racing, Maeve walked out towards the sound of the training soldiers.

 _What should I say? 'Um, excuse me, but do you hate me because I'm a Mage?' Or, 'Why do you look so stern all the time?' Or maybe, 'What is that thing on your cloak?'_ Before she could decide, a smooth voice interrupted her thoughts.

     "Herald," Cullen acknowledged with a quick glance in her direction before resuming overseeing his recruits. "We continue to see enlistment on the rise as pilgrims and locals pledge to our cause." He smiled proudly, glad to see the strength of their numbers increasing.

     _How very typical of military men._

     "Although," he said turning to her, setting his gaze upon her intently. "None made quite the entrance you did." Her pulse quickened, but she would not wither beneath scrutiny. She straightened her shoulders and confidently replied, "Not as if I had a choice, but it did get everyone's attention."

     "Indeed, you did!" He began to walk away and it took a brief moment for Maeve to realize that he was still talking to her. _He must be so used to command he just expects me to follow_. As he walked, inspecting the form of the trainees, he explained how he had experienced the Mage rebellion at Kirkwall and had been recruited by Cassandra to this Inquisition.

     She quickened her pace to step in front of him, halting him momentarily. "Now, that _is_ something I am interested in. You left the Templars after the Mage rebellion . . . what are your thoughts on the situation now?"

     Cullen crossed his arms over his broad chest, his hard brows cinching together. "Terrible. Mages are drunk with power, attacking everything in sight, while the Templars are blindly rampaging everywhere, completely abandoning their duty."

     Straightening, Maeve coolly questioned, "And what _is_ a Templar's duty, Commander?"

     "To protect," he said too quickly. Was it genuine conviction or a recitation born of rote? "The Templar Order is meant to protect others from the dangers of magic, and to protect Mages from the danger of demons."

     "Magic isn't dangerous," she defended, crossing her arms, her voice getting louder as she became more impassioned. "No more than your sword. Magic is a tool, like anything else. People don't need protected from magic; they need protected from ignorance and from idiots who use power without discretion, whether it be magic or a sword."

     He watched her dark eyes flash with heat, how she stood taller with the strength of her conviction. His gaze grew more serious, his voice more even. "Be that as it may, it doesn't change the fact that people with innate magical abilities pose more of a threat than those with swords."

     "Really?" she challenged, crossing her arms. "Because out there, I see fair amounts of casualties on either side. If magic were that powerful, then why bother being a Templar?"

     He looked to either side, noticing the growing number of observers hemming around them. "Perhaps it would be best if we recognize the situation at hand and focus on dealing with that."

     "What? This?" She held up her left hand. "This is _magic_ that we don't understand! It _is_ powerful, but does that mean it is dangerous?" She looked at him intently, almost desperately, needing to know the answer he would give. "Am _I_ dangerous?"

     Something in him changed, a slight tilt to his posture, a relaxing of his broad shoulders, a softening to his gaze. For a moment, he appeared . . . kind. "I do not know you well, but what I have seen is someone who is willing to risk her own life in order to try something that could only possibly save others. That mark is powerful, yes, but I do not think you are a danger."

     The tension around them eased, and the few observers slowly went on their way.

     Maeve looked side to side, only now noticing their audience. A heat began to rise to her face, flushing her fair cheeks. "I apologize. It is very important to me to know where our Commander stands on these issues. It . . . eases my mind a bit to hear you say that."

     "No apology is necessary. You should know I take my role here very seriously. There is _much_ we can accomplish! The Chantry is lamed by the loss of the Divine and now the rest all squabble, leaving the rest of Thedas to ruin while Apostates and rogue Templars take out their own versions of justice. With the resources of the Inquisition, we could--" He paused, noting the sincerity of her attention, the intent gaze she held as he spoke. "I . . . did not mean to give you a lecture."

     "What? No, that's exactly why I came. If you have a lecture, I'd love to hear it." She was so genuine, so honest in her intent that it caught him off guard. He was grateful for the interruption provided by one of the scouts.

     "Commander, urgent message for you."

     He sighed, taking the message in hand. "Perhaps another time, Herald. Duty calls, after all."

    "I look forward to it."

     He nodded slowly, keeping his gaze on her as he walked away.

    The tightness in her stomach returned. With much to think over, Maeve headed back towards the fire to gather her staff.

    "So, how did it go?" Varric asked with a measure of cheek. But the Mage was so intent on dissecting her recent discussion with the commander that she did not hear her friend's comment. He picked up her staff and handed it to her, waving it in her face. "Hello? I see you're back in one piece. So, how did it go?"

     She hesitated, still taking in their conversation. "I think . . . " she said slowly, releasing a long, pent up sigh. "I think we have more to talk about."

     _Much more._


End file.
